Within whose depths lies eternity!
And in those smiles that gleam and tremble
Through the veil that seems to shroud
Their full effulgence, and resemble
Lightnings hovering in a cloud;
And in the light serene and clear
Of her own vestal purity,
Which surrounds her like an atmosphere.
Spirit of Beauty! here confess
Thy divinest dwelling-place!
Yet not the kindling dawn,
Nor breathless summer noon, nor soft decline
Of eve, nor stars, nor moon-lit lawn,
Nor 'human face divine,'
Nor aught that greets our earthly sight
Of most surpassing loveliness,
Thy full divinity express;
These are but symbols of thy might.
High throned above all mortal state,
Enrapt, serene, owning nor death nor change,
Nor time, nor place, thou hast thy seat
In that calm world wherein the Soul doth range,
Where Thought and Wisdom do abide,
Beside immortal Truth, thy sister and thy bride!
Supreme immunities are thine,
Eternal Beauty! glorious giver
Of light, and joy, and blessedness!
And they are blest who on thy face divine
Gaze and repose for ever.
Such guerdon high do those possess,
The star-like souls, who dwell apart,[A]
Above our dim and common day
Shining serene. To these thou art
Immortal light and strength, and they
By virtue led, and contemplation high,
Partake with thee thine own eternity!
H. M. G.
[A] 'THY soul was like a star, and dwelt apart.'--WORDSWORTH'S
SONNET TO MILTON.
MEADOW-FARM: A TALE OF ASSOCIATION.
BY THE AUTHOR OF 'EDWARD ALFORD AND HIS PLAYFELLOW.'
CHAPTER SEVENTH.
'BECAUSE there dwells
In the inner temple of the holy heart
The presence of the spirit from above:
There are His tabernacles; there His rites.'
SCHOOL OF THE HEART.
THE next day after the events narrated in our last chapter, was the
Sabbath. 'How shall it be employed?' No preconcerted plan of worship
had been agreed upon; this Rufus chose to leave to the inspiration
of the moment. In this small number of persons there were various
religious impressions; that is, they had been brought up under
different denominations. The widow Stewart and her sons called
themselves Baptists; Rufus Gilbert and his wife were Unitarians;
Philip and his mother were Calvinists; but no one of all these
could be said to have opinions upon religion. Chance, accident, had
determined their position; and if any one had been asked why he bore
this or that name, he would have said, because I go to this or that
church, rather than give any reason for his presumed faith.
With Rufus the case was rather different. An ignorant person in
talking with him would have said he was inclined to infidelity;
for he had no faith in the saving power of the church, and did
not believe that church-membership was necessary to salvation; he
maintained that virtue was the key to Heaven, and obedience to
conscience the sure passport to eternal happiness; that worship and
all the ordinances of religion were the means of cultivating the
virtue and obedience, and so far they were sacred.
Philip Wilton had been educated a Calvinist. The splendid
intellectual system of orthodoxy had blinded him to the fundamental
errors upon which that noble superstructure rests; for grant their
premises, and what scheme of faith is so consistent? Of an ardent
temperament, he loved to lose himself in religious agitation;
and surrounding himself with gloom, and picturing the despair of
hell, the agony of the lost, the terrors of the law, to pass in
imagination to the foot of the cross and feel his sins forgiven, his
stains washed out, by the cleansing blood dripping from the body of
the Lord. Then would he mount to Heaven, a purified saint, and veil
his face before the ineffable glory of the Father, to thank him, to
praise him forever.
Such was the action of his early piety, exhausting, fruitless, and
delusive; for every thing was to be done for him, and by simply
believing certain facts he was to be entitled to this blissful
state. Time has sobered his views, as he felt the power of reason
in his mind, and his experience of life had banished this physical
form of worship, and substituted a more spiritual religion in his
heart.
The sun shone brightly on this their first Sabbath morning together
in their new home. The notes of birds, the rushing streams, the
shooting grass was the voice of Spring. The cattle and flocks in
the fold cast wistful glances to the pastures on the hillsides;
every thing that had power of motion seemed to have come out to
welcome the voice, and to be filled with tranquil happiness. It was
surprising to see how perfectly all these persons united in their
religious service as they met together in the library to thank God
for their blessings. All idea of sect was lost or forgotten in the
common feeling of thankfulness. Sheltered by the same roof, fed at
the same table, and happy and contented in the same scene, they were
led to acknowledge in their hearts that they had a common Father
and one faith in Him. All those circumstances of going to different
places, having different forms and different names, the rivalry
of preachers, and the temporal success of their various churches,
were absent, and in the fervor of their gratitude all causes of
separation were forgotten, and every thing disuniting was merged
in a common sense of dependence, as they confessed their sins and
prayed for guidance and light from the one Source of all benefits.
Philip conducted the meeting, and the mother's heart was satisfied
with seeing her son even in that humble pulpit. Forgetting
himself, and making no special effort to be eloquent and fine,
he extemporized a better sermon than he could have written, from
the text, 'But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace,
long-suffering, gentleness, goodness, faith.' Music, a kind of
devotion itself, was not wanting to complete the beauty of their
simple worship; and when the sun went down on that Sabbath evening,
each felt that he had never truly worshipped before; so cold, tame,
and meaningless did the almost compelled services of the churches
seem to them, when compared with this spontaneous, social outpouring
of the heart.
As the sun was declining, John Stewart and Clara had separated
from the others in their walk, and stood beside the lake. They
were discussing the sermon of Philip: 'And then how beautifully he
portrayed the effects of true religion on the life,' said Clara, in
reply to some remark of his. 'He has so much feeling that he makes
others feel. He does not say such remarkable things, but all he does
utter you are sure comes from the bottom of his heart.'
'And do people always produce such effects when they speak from
their hearts?' asked John.
'I believe so,' answered Clara; and then there was a long silence,
and they sat down on a fallen trunk by the side of the lake, looking
at the budding trees reflected in the clear water.
Religion and love are close companions. When the heart is touched
by devotion, when we have made our peace with Heaven, and formed
resolutions to lead purer and better lives, all the finer parts of
our nature are roused into action, and we are prepared to love, to
assist, and sympathize with our fellow creatures. A bad man cannot
love; he may feel passion, but not love.
John Stewart, with a rough exterior, had a sensitive heart. He had
long in secret worshipped the fair Clara, but the sense of his own
deficiencies had hitherto kept him silent. His connection with Rufus
Gilbert had drawn him often to her mother's house, where he was
considered an odd sort of young man; for as we have before remarked,
he would sit for hours watching the movements of the younger sister,
who regarded him almost like a brother.
'You know, Clara,' at length began John, 'that we are all under a
solemn agreement with Mr. Gilbert to have no secret plan, to make no
bargain of any kind, and to conceal no grief, while members of the
family, but to be perfectly open and trusting in all our dealings
with each other.'
'Yes, John; and have you broken the agreement?'
'No, but I am like to, unless you help me out of a difficulty.'
'Oh, any thing, John; you know I would do any thing in my power for
you.'
'But if it is not in your power now, will you try to help me?'
'Certainly.'
'Then you must try to love me; you must be my wife, Clara.'
'And the wedding shall take place when you have earned a thousand
dollars by your own labor,' said a voice behind them, which they
knew to be Rufus Gilbert's.
'And,' added another voice, 'I am an ordained minister, and can
legally marry you.'
Turning, they became aware that their friends had come up as they
were talking together, and unintentionally heard their conversation.
Clara said nothing, but gave her hand to John, then ran to embrace
her mother and sister, while her lover half bewildered with delight
and happiness so unexpected, was shaking hands with his brothers and
friends.
'We heard what you said about the 'solemn agreement,' to divulge all
secrets; we have saved you the trouble,' said Rufus. 'This honesty
alone makes you worthy of any woman, and I congratulate myself as
well as you upon this plighting.'
The parties returned to the house and spent the evening in singing
sacred music together; and if, as some one has observed, happiness
is the true atmosphere of devotion and of virtue, John and Clara
both were better on that evening than ever before.
* * * * *
CHAPTER EIGHTH.
'O THAT the newspapers had called me slave, coward, fool, or what it
pleased their sweet voices to name me, and I had attained not death
but life!'
CARLYLE'S 'PAST AND PRESENT.'
IT must not be supposed that the Meadow-Farmers gained their
position without other struggle than the labor of arranging and
cultivating their domain. Fortunately for them they had enemies, or
rather opponents, who talked against them and wrote against them,
and by these means compelled them to look carefully to their own
principles. These attacks taught them their own strength, and gave
steadiness and manliness to their efforts. The strong ship never
sails so steadily as when she stems an opposing current.
A man can hardly introduce a new kind of plough upon his farm,
without being called upon for his reasons; much less can a body of
men start a new project of society, unquestioned and unnoticed.
Although every freeman may plough and reap as he please, yet may I
call him to account for the implied slander which he utters upon the
usual and common plough of the country, by throwing it aside and
adopting a new one. So when men promulge new doctrines of society,
and establish new forms of business and domestic economy, may we
not rightfully question them closely, for their attempt to unsettle
the established order of things, which they virtually do by such a
course? For by no means is it true, that men have the right--the
moral right--to plunge recklessly against old institutions and
habits, with no other reason than that such is their pleasure.
Such crusades may be more safely allowed in monarchical countries,
whose heavy and ponderous forms are little moved by them; but in
a country where public sentiment is law and government much more
than the statute-book, it is not only our right but our duty to
watch narrowly every innovation, and to question, with a voice of
authority, him who comes to remove the old landmarks planted by our
fathers.
This curious and, as it is called, meddlesome spirit, which
Americans show in the affairs of their neighbors, is in fact the
instinct of self-preservation in our people. It is a better habit
than an idle curiosity, however it may be denominated. It matters
little who comes or goes, or what the habits and opinions, of
people who live in countries where a military power is ever ready
to support the established authority of the land. Not so with us.
We require no passports in passing from village to village, from
state to state; every man is free to move as he pleases; but there
is constantly over every man a jealous scrutiny, and not so much
over his personal movements, as over the most important part of
him, his opinions and habits. Hence the thousand staring eyes which
greet every stranger as he passes through our villages and towns.
Is any one desirous of being conspicuous among his fellow men, he
has only to quietly take up his abode in any of our country towns;
preserve a mysterious silence respecting his business; say no more
than is absolutely necessary for his wants, and in a week's time
he will become the theme of every tea-table in the neighborhood;
and should he incline to go to meeting on the Sabbath, he will find
that he will more than equally divide attention with the preacher.
As we live and move and have our being as a nation by the action of
this public sentiment, is it not a necessary consequence that we are
curious and meddlesome, and often annoying, toward those who come
among us to see the strange anomaly, a self-governed people? And
we ask such persons seriously, if, having considered the case, our
prying, Yankee questioning is a proper subject of their ridicule?
For the same reason, too, all secret societies are deemed dangerous
to the community, and our people will not endure them because they
are foreign to the character of our government. And how are they
foreign, it is asked? Each voter being a part of the government,
he wants all the facts of the country before him in order to form
his opinion, which he cannot have if secret societies exist. In a
despotism the power being in one head, that head alone has need of
the facts we refer to; the governed have no interest except to obey,
no duty but to submit. To refer to an almost forgotten question, the
rights of Free Masons, the opposition and abuse they received was
far less against them as Masons, than as asking for protection and
privilege, without being willing to yield any thing to that public
sentiment which they were opposing by their very existence as a
secret society.
Let us draw here one other inference from what has been said, and
then to work: a free and untrammeled press is as essential to a
free government as air is to life. If the art of printing had been
known by the ancient republics they might still have existed. And,
moreover, we may demand, as a right, to know any and all of the
affairs of others which may, by possibility, act upon this public
trust, of which each man is part keeper. And the advantage of this
supervision is mutual, for it is well for every one to know that
the whole country has an interest in what he does, in his acts, his
habits, and especially in his opinions.
Rufus Gilbert courted this scrutiny, and took pains to open his
views to all who visited him; but he became unpopular at first with
the church in his neighborhood, because he did not come under its
wing and ask its influence--an influence always to be obtained by
paying for it. Both political parties called him a fool and fanatic,
because he did not immediately set down his political opinions and
promise his vote for or against men he had never seen or heard of
before.
To the Whig committee-man who called to ask his support for that
party, he propounded first the question, 'Is your candidate a
temperance man?'
'Really, Sir, we have little to do with such narrow questions; I
can't answer you.'
'Is he for or against slavery?' next proposed Rufus.
'That, too, is beyond my instructions.'
'What then, may I ask,' said Rufus, 'are the grounds upon which you
ask my vote for your candidate?'
'Grounds, Sir!--zounds!' said the emissary, looking about for a
convenient stump, 'grounds, did you say? Sir, he is a Whig; he was
born a Whig; he has lived a Whig, and will die a Whig. What more can
you ask? He never opposes his party; he is a man we can rely upon;
we know where to find him; he is a man to stick to the party, if the
party go to the d--l; and that's what I call being a patriot.'
A little ruder in speech, but quite as honest in his views, was the
friend of the opposing party, who called to solicit the name of Mr.
Gilbert on his paper, whose inquiries respecting the opinions of
the candidate upon what he conceived to be vital questions, namely,
temperance and slavery, he answered thus:
'I'll tell you what, friend, you're a stranger to me and I'm a
stranger to you, but I have heard that you are a friend to the poor;
now if such be the case, you hate the Whigs, you hate the rich,
the aristocrats that they be; this is as natural as for hens to
cackle. Now we don't meddle with temperance, because some of our men
can only be brought forward by the drink; we don't touch slavery,
because, you see old Hickory may own slaves himself. These are, in
polite way of talking, subjects for the straddle. The fence, Sir,
the fence, is our only and our tee-total safety on these p'ints.'
'But,' said Rufus, 'because I am a friend to the poor, how does it
follow that I must hate the rich? I must love all men, for every man
is my brother. I shall not vote at all at the coming election, for
I have not had time to inform myself as to the respective merits of
the men that are up.'
'That's right, Sir, I must confess,' said the young man, with an
entirely different tone and manner, for he was the son of an honest
man, and had had early instruction in his youth; 'that's right; I
respect you, Mr. Gilbert; it's just what father said; and I must
tell you, I've seen better days than getting a dollar a day for
crying 'Hurrah for old Hickory!' So, re-cocking his hat and falling
again into the part he was paid for playing, off he rode.
'A pretty fellow this,' said the Whigs, 'to show no colors; I'll bet
a cow he will sneak in and vote for Hickory. What right has he to
come into our county and play dark till the game turns? We'll fix
him!'
'Did you try to buy him?' said the Jackson men to their emissary.
'No; I didn't dare do it; I'll wager drinks all round he is not to
be bought.'
'This is a noble fellow,' sighed the Whig candidate himself, when
he heard what Rufus had said; 'I must seek him out; a man after my
own heart. Would to God I were free to act myself! Oh! this slavery
of party; this slavery of the soul! How much meaner and baser is it
than any bonds of the body!'
'Saddle me a horse,' said the other candidate; 'I'll ride over and
promise him he shall be post-master.'
'That's promised three times already,' said some one; 'promise him
the judge of probate, for that's only promised twice.'
'Ah! that will do.' But Rufus was proof against promises and bribes.
Providence smiled upon the labors of the band, in a productive
harvest, the first year of their location. The land proved even
better than they expected. Uninterrupted health, the result of
their simple and regular habits, enabled them to enjoy life as
they had never done before. And what was it gave such a spring to
their labors? They each had a personal interest in the crops. If
profits accrued, they were to gain by them; if losses occurred,
they were to lose by them. But better than this, they all lived in
an elevated atmosphere. Subjects of deep interest employed their
hours of rest and refreshment. They were living in the school of
love and brotherly kindness. No rivalry excited their passions; no
competition embittered their intercourse; every act of each one
was felt to be the act of all; and they were as much interested in
the success of each other as of themselves. It is astonishing how
one earnest mind may spread its influence over masses of men, and
give tone and harmony to the most discordant elements. Such was
the influence of Rufus; and hardly less that of Philip. The young
farmers caught the spirit of their discussions, and as they became
informed in their minds, they began to take part in their animated
debates. This made their hours of rest seasons of real improvement,
and they became as much concerned for their intellectual harvest as
for the crops on the soil. Their evenings were not spent listlessly
in smoking and lolling about on benches, drinking cider and picking
their teeth with straws, as many farmers spend them, but in the
library, where one read aloud for the benefit of all, or in the
general discussion of some topic of sufficient importance to cause
them to forget their bodily fatigues. And thus are we kindly
constituted by nature; study is rest from bodily labor, and bodily
labor is rest from study. It has been proved by experience that one
man may more easily do the intellectual and physical labor of two
men, than the two can do it separately. The student without exercise
becomes the invalid or the madman, and the laborer, without thought
and intellectual culture, becomes a brute.
With the majority of our farmers money-getting is the prevailing
motive. Are they temperate, it is out of regard to their health and
pocket. If they are honest, it is often more a matter of business
and credit than of virtue. Can it be denied that the farmer's
standard is too low? Does he live for his soul, his mind; to make
life a scene of noble progression in knowledge and virtue? Is he
not generally more anxious to enlarge his farm than to expand
his intellect? Does he not sneer at learning, and glory in his
coarseness? Would that he might try the true life; keep up the
balance of his powers; make his body the servant of his soul; and
look toward knowledge and virtue as the destiny of his being!
Rufus Gilbert had arrived at that point of attainment. He really
and sincerely valued money only as a means, an unusual refinement
indeed; and this principle he had instilled into the hearts of all
his disciples, so that they were elevated beings, and had high
views of the object of life. No man who has been by circumstances
'born again' to this new being, ever can go back to the low aims
and filthy pursuits of party ambition, or heap up money for money's
sake. 'To him that hath shall be given;' such men are always
improving, always advancing; they cannot help it. 'From him that
hath not, shall be taken away even that which he hath;' such men are
always retrograding, sinking, falling; they too cannot help it.
As the reader must by this time begin to feel some interest in the
financial state of the Meadow-Farm, let us look in upon them at the
end of the third year of their experiment. The writer will give the
statement as it was given to him, and as nearly as may be in the
same words.
'Our original purchase cost five thousand dollars, and consisted
of five hundred acres of land, mostly in a wild state. The expense
of the house, furniture, and stock, was about two thousand dollars
more, for we began with the smallest amount practicable. We numbered
at the outset fourteen souls, among whom were seven able-bodied
young men, ready to endure hardships and work their way wherever I
should lead them. Four of the remaining were women and three were
children. The first year was spent in clearing enough land to secure
us against want in the way of corn, and potatoes, and wheat; and
contrary to my own fears, at the end of it we were able to pay the
interest on our borrowed capital, beside having greatly improved our
farm. The second year was still more fortunate. We had admitted five
new hands, four of whom were able-bodied men and good farmers; so
that we were strong in force. The other was a good tailoress whose
services we began to need. Mechanics of all sorts flocked in upon
us, many of whom we could not receive. At the close of the third
year, now, our affairs stand thus:
'Our farm with the buildings we have erected, is estimated at, and
taxed for, eight thousand dollars. We have paid the two thousand
dollars borrowed capital, and do not owe a farthing. We have three
hundred sheep, and fifty head of cattle and horses. We have a good
library; are all well clothed and fed. Some are richer than others,
in proportion to the time they have been with us. We now number
twenty-five persons, including my own two children, one an infant.
John Stewart considers he has earned six hundred dollars toward
the thousand which is the condition of his possessing before he
can claim the hand of Clara Welton. Not that I think it necessary
a young man should possess a fortune before he marries. I think
with Cobbett upon this point, that the sooner a young man marries
the better for him, if he has good and industrious habits; but we
thought it necessary to test the case with John, as he had the
reputation of being an odd fellow, and we thought while he was
earning the specified amount, we could do it to our satisfaction.